Page 9

“Personally, I don’t think it’s that creepy down here. It’s just the shit lighting, I think,” he rambles, just as oblivious as he’s always been. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen up there.

He leads the way, guiding me down the labyrinth of tunnels as I catch my breath. There’s a lot of storage down here, some refurbished rooms filled with costumes and display pieces.

I stare at his broad back, trying to reconcile the skinny guy from my memories with this unit in front of me. It’s disarming me completely, dragging up too many memories—good and bad.

“Sooo…” Sunday says, leaning against a large chest freezer and stuffing his hands in his pockets. The movement makes his biceps flex, the hem of his sleeve biting into the muscle. “Why the big move?”

“Just wanted a change of scenery.” The lie tastes sour on my tongue, but I’m not willing to get into it with him. Once upon a time, I would have climbed into his lap and poured out my emotions into his palms, but that ship has sailed.

“Yeah? Did⁠—”

“It’s really cold down here. Can we go?” I make a show of rubbing my arms, even though I run hot. That’s the bonus of my power: energy creates heat, so I only get cold if my magic burns out completely. Not likely to happen with the low buzz of magical resonance steeped in the land here.

“Uh, sure. Did Lara show you the mineral gallery? I figure you’ll like that.”

He figures right.

And I loathe that he does.

I roll my shoulders as I drag myself up the narrow stairwell in my building, feeling both wrung out and pent up. Seeing Sunday again after six years has put my head in a tailspin. Especially after having to spend an hour with him while he made awkward small talk during our tour of the mineral gallery. The gorgeous plate of raspberry-purple fluorite was vibrant and beautiful until it triggered a potent wave of déjà vu and I couldn’t look at it anymore.

The need to unwind has my muscles strung tight and a hole trying to burn its way through my center and lower. I try to ignore the small coil of heat building in my gut, wanting to focus on expelling the dreary energy taking root in my brain instead.

Delphine is babbling about something when we enter my apartment, but I’m too distracted to pay attention. I toe off my chucks and dump my bag on the floor, catching the odd word or two about how exciting and wonderful it is to experience a new city, how thrilling it is to make new friends. I’m not sure stalking French—possibly paranormal—boys is quite the same as making friends, but who am I to judge.

She continues her rambling as I close the curtains, making the already small space feel tighter, more intimate. I have an unhealthy obsession with candles and a healthy disdain for the “big light,” so I can’t help lighting a few wax pillars. The little flames bathe everything in a warm glow, sending shadows dancing on the fabric-covered walls.

I light one of my favorite incense sticks too—sandalwood and jasmine, with a hint of lavender—twirling it around before sticking it back in the carved holder to release lazy swirls of smoke into the air. There’s something about the scent that has always felt homey to me, though I can’t remember why.

My couch is too small for this, so the thick, knitted throw that lives there gets sequestered to the floor, pillows following suit, before I collapse into the nest I’ve made. Indulging in a deep sigh, I focus on relaxing as Delphine’s voice peters out into a soft humming. The sound of her lullaby is a nice enough soundtrack for me to start emptying my brain, making room for any spiritual messages that might want to come through for me. The minutes tick by as my limbs soften and my eyes grow heavy, shadows drifting behind my eyes.

A skull-covered hand, caressing the dip of my throat.

My breath leaves me in a gasp as the memory storms to the front of my mind. I wrench my eyes open, pushing up to my elbows as my heart canters around my chest. Delphine narrows her eyes at me but swiftly resumes her humming and the rhythmic braiding of her auburn hair.

I slump back into the pile of fabrics, trying my best to let calm flow through me and cleanse the errant thoughts. My eyes shutter, only to be greeted by the sight of a dark-haired boy pinning me to the bed in our dorm room, kissing my neck. The phantom sensation of his lips pressing against my ribs makes goosebumps break out across my skin.

My eyes fly open, a frustrated growl working its way out of my throat. I roll over onto my stomach, annoyed at the heaviness growing between my legs. Scrambling up, I kick a pillow for good measure before storming toward the bathroom.

“Someone’s got their drawers in a twist!” Delphine calls from her perch on the arm of the couch as I pass her. I lock myself in the tiled room, as if I can somehow stop the echo of Sunday’s moans from chasing me in here.

The stream of water splashes right out of the basin when I turn the faucet on, but I greedily cup my hands and throw water in my face, trying to cool my rapidly heating cheeks.

Fuck. Why is he in my head like this? Maybe it’s just the shock of seeing him after so many years, seeing how much he’s changed. My cock kicks against my zipper, and I glare at it for a beat, irritated by my body’s reaction. Does it not remember how crushed we were when he left?

Apparently not. Only the crushing weight of his body on mine, it seems.

Eventually, I lift my head and stare at my reflection in the mirror. It’s been a while since I last attended to my needs. Months, actually. I haven’t felt great about my body for a long time now, haven’t felt all that connected to pleasure either.

“Delph?” I call quietly, knowing she’ll come whether I shout or whisper. I step forward, pressing my hips against the vanity to hide my thickening erection as she appears behind me.

“Oh no. You have that look on your face. The one you make when you are about to tell people things they would rather not hear.” She crosses her arms, immediately turning her face up in defiance.

I do feel cruel, telling her to leave after the whole poltergeist ordeal. I absentmindedly twiddle one of my bracelets, a nervous habit. “I’m sorry, Delph, I just need some alone time. I just—I need…” I falter, trying to find the right words.

“Aha!” she gasps, clapping her hands together. “One needs to have amorous congress with oneself.”

I can do nothing except gape at her reflection in the mirror. Residing in the mortal plane has clearly corrupted her ladylike innocence.